


A Text In The Night

by Pretending2BeMe



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Humor, Illnesses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-02 00:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5227439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pretending2BeMe/pseuds/Pretending2BeMe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeremy is ill and it's Andy that has to suffer!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Text In The Night

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't been feeling well for the last couple of weeks and I'm mighty fed up with it so I dug this bit of nonsense out and thought I'd share it. Inspired by the Series 18 Episode 2 Behind the Scenes vid on Youtube (I can't seem to link it here but it's easy enough to find.)

Andy plipped the locks on his car and ambled across the field to the portakabin. James was leaning against the wall, mug of tea in one hand and cigarette in the other. As Andy drew level he asked, “Is Clarkson in yet?”

“He’s in the back, writing his last Will and Testament,” answered James with a backwards nod. “Do you know he sent me a fax last night detailing his imminent demise?”

“If you think that’s bad, he sent me a text in the night giving me a blow-by-blow account of how much crap he was coughing up. That was after four phone calls when I was trying to eat my tea and a stream of e-mails while I was in the bath.”

James rolled his eyes and drew on his cigarette, “What did you do?”

“Only thing I could do,” Andy answered with a grin, “Turned my phone off and went back to bed. He’s going to be a nightmare today, you know that, right.”

“He always is when he’s ill. What’s wrong with him anyway?”

“Well, as far as Jeremy is concerned, it’s double pneumonia with a side order of bubonic plague but to you and me, it’s a cold. S’pose I should get in there and deal with him.”

As Andy entered the portakabin, James patted him on the shoulder, “Good luck mate.”

*

Andy opened the door to the back kitchen that doubled as a sitting room to find Jeremy scrunched up on the ancient blue sofa, coat slung over him like a blanket, moaning softly to himself. Walking over to the worktop, he flicked the kettle on and fished a mug out of the over-flowing sink. Rinsing it out under the tap, he called out, “Come on Clarky, shift yourself.”

“Fuck off, Wilman, I’m dying here,” came the muffled reply.

“I’m sure you are, but we’ve got work to do this morning,” he replied as he emptied the contents of a small sachet into the mug, added the just-boiled water and stirred it with the room’s only teaspoon.

Crossing the floor to the sofa, he shoved Jeremy’s legs off and sat down in the space he’d just created, “Come on, get this down ya,” he said as Jeremy began to heave himself upright.

Taking the cup, Jeremy sniffed at it and grimaced, “Lemsip? I hate Lemsip.”

Andy raised his eyes upwards, “Everybody hates Lemsip, just shut up and drink it.”

Jeremy huffed and did as he was told, albeit pulling a ‘yuck’ face after every mouthful. “God, you’re such a child,” moaned Andy. “I bet you haven’t eaten, have you.”

“I don’t think I can,” whined Jeremy.

“Of course you can; how about some jammy toast?”

“Oooh, I love your jammy toast,” replied Jeremy, brightening slightly.

Shaking his head, Andy headed back to the kitchen, “You _are_ a child.”

Opening the cupboard, he eyed the bread suspiciously. After squeezing the loaf and judging it just about edible; Andy popped two slices into the toaster. Leaning down, he peered into the fridge and scanned the contents, “James,” he called out, “There’s no jam in fridge.”

“No, it’s in the cupboard, where it should be,” shouted James from outside.

Andy sighed and slammed the fridge shut, “It’s going to be one of those days,” he mumbled under his breath.

*

After a day spent trying to get the last-minute bits of filming done interspersed with listening to Jeremy’s endless commentary on how ill he was (while at the same time, insisting that he wasn’t mentioning it _at all_ ), plying him with food and practically forcing Lemsip down his throat; Andy was well and truly ready for a quiet night slumped in front of the telly. However, when he spotted Jeremy leant against his car coughing up a lung and looking pasty as hell, he threw all thoughts for himself out of the window. Even though Jeremy was a Grade A pain in the arse when he was sick, Andy still loved him and he could see that he needed looking after; which he knew he wouldn’t do if he was left to go home alone.

Walking over, Andy placed a hand on the small of Jeremy’s back and gently guided him towards the passenger door of the car, “Come on, I’m taking you home. But I need to stop at Tesco’s on the way.”

Easing himself into the seat, Jeremy looked up at Wilman and gave him a weak smile, “Thanks,” he said softly.

*

Dumping the shopping bags in the kitchen, Wilman returned to the hallway to help Jeremy off with his coat, “Go and get yourself into bed while I rustle you up something to make you feel better.”

“Please, no more Lemsip,” begged Jeremy.

Chuckling, Andy gave Jeremy a gentle shove towards the bedroom, “No, no more Lemsip. There’s only one thing that can save you now and that’s ‘Wilman’s Cure-All’.”

“What?” questioned Jeremy as he shuffled weakly down the passage.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten – just how ill are you?”

*

Fifteen minutes later, Andy entered the bedroom and carefully placed a tea-tray containing all the ingredients of his ‘Cure-All’ on Jeremy’s lap, “Here you are, get your laughing gear round that,”

Jeremy eyed the tray suspiciously, “Soup?” he asked.

“It’s Heinz Tomato, you like Heinz Tomato,” chivvied Andy. Taking the two DVD’s from the tray, he presented them to Jeremy, “Which film do you want – ‘Battle of Britain’ or ‘Where Eagles Dare’?”

Lifting the spoon, Jeremy blew across the hot, creamy liquid and pondered momentarily, “‘Battle of Britain’. You didn’t have to do all this; you know I hate to cause a fuss.”

Andy inserted the DVD into the machine and hit ‘play’, “You’ve been causing me a fuss for years, Clarkson, and I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said with a wink.

Settling down on the bed next to Jeremy, Andy snatched up a slice of bread from the tray and dunked it in Jeremy’s soup, “Oi!” yelled Jeremy, in mock annoyance.

“Oh be quiet. While you may have slept all the way home, I had to do battle with the horrors of Tesco to furnish you with this little lot, the least you can do is share,” answered Andy through his mouthful.

The pair sat, watching the beginnings of the film, in an easy silence that was broken only by the occasional slurping from Jeremy. Once the bowl was empty, Jeremy turned to Wilman and smiled, “Thanks, that was lovely.”

Taking the tray and moving it to the floor, Andy took up the mug from the tray and passed it over, “It’s alright,” he said quietly, “Now for the best bit - and I defy you to tell me that you don’t remember this - ” he nodded to the mug that Jeremy now held.

Although not boiling anymore, the liquid was still hot and Jeremy blew across its surface slightly before taking a mouthful. Immediately, his face lit up and, almost squealing, he exclaimed, “Scotch and Ovaltine!”

Andy grinned, “I knew you hadn’t forgotten. How many times did that little concoction keep you alive through school?”

“I’ve always been a martyr to illness, you know that, Wilman,” teased Jeremy. Stretching out his arm, he pulled Andy to lie at his side, “It still tastes the same, you know.”

“Except we can afford decent Whiskey these days,” chuckled Andy as he settled into the hug.

“And we don’t have to beg a passer-by to get it for us either,” laughed Jeremy, remembering.

Taking another mouthful, Jeremy nudged Andy in the side, “I remember something else you used to give me when I was under the weather…”

Andy shook his head, “Didn’t I give you enough on Friday night, you insatiable git.”

“Yeah, but that was proper, grown-up shagging; I’m talking about a nostalgic wank.” Jeremy turned his head and gave Andy his best ‘lost dog’ look, “I am _really_ sick,” he wheedled.

Andy gave Jeremy a playful shove, “Don’t beg, Clarkson, it doesn’t suit you.”

Jeremy widened his eyes a little more and tilted his head to the side. “You manipulative bastard,” laughed Andy; he never had been able to resist Jeremy when he pulled that move on him.

“Come here,” said Jeremy softly as he shifted slightly to press his forehead against Andy’s, “I won’t kiss you but…AAHCHOO!”

Andy flew backwards and wiped his hand down his face, “Jesus, Jeremy!” he yelled in disgust.

“Oops, sorry.”

Andy scowled, “Fucking hell, it’s like Christmas 1985 all over again.”

“Oh for god sake, you’re never going to let me forget that one are you,” huffed Jeremy.

“No. You coughed in my mouth, remember.”

“I was ill _and_ it was an accident!” Jeremy stated, his voice rising by an octave. “It was your own fault anyway for having your mouth open.”

“Hardly,” said Andy, continuing the well-worn argument. “And what happened? By New Year’s Eve, I was at death’s door and you had swanned off to whatshisname's party leaving me on my own.”

“I came back early,” declared Jeremy, eager as ever to have the last word.

Huffing angrily, Andy folded his arms across his chest, “You were sick in the hallway,” he countered, unwilling as ever to let him have it.

“Oh, you’re going to sulk about it now, are you? Well two can play at that game, Wilman.” Jeremy copied Andy’s move and folded his arms.

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

After ten minutes of stony silence where both men scowled and pretended to watch the film, Jeremy nudged Andy on the arm and, as soon as he turned his head, Jeremy pulled a face and stuck out his tongue.

“Child,” Andy threw out, trying to hide his smile.

Half a minute later, Andy’s shoulders began to shake with the laughter he was desperately trying to keep in. Catching Wilman’s shuddering out of the corner of his eye, Jeremy let out his own mirth and within seconds, both men were doubled over, giggling stupidly.

“Oh, Clarkson, what am I gonna do with you?” asked Andy when he was eventually able to speak.

Wiping his eyes, Jeremy pulled Andy to him once more, “If you don’t know by now mate, you never will.”

Andy chuckled, “If you’ve given me your lurgy, I’ll murder you.”

“I suppose that means the hand-job’s off the table,” giggled Jeremy, chancing his arm.

“Oh, you’re impossible!”

“And you love me for it,” cheeked Jeremy as he pulled Andy in for a kiss.

“Well, maybe and I’ve had a mouthful of your germs now anyway, so we may as well go the whole hog,” laughed Andy as he moved to straddle Jeremy’s hips.

The End


End file.
